


safeguard against the wickedness

by kyrilu



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Gen, Loyalty, Missing Scene, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael and Alex have a quiet conversation on the way to Vega. Set between 2x8 and 2x9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	safeguard against the wickedness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



> Extra treat for blueteak! ♥
> 
> This fic takes place a little bit after Michael joined up with Alex & Noma after escaping New Delphi.

He takes turns driving the beat-up old truck with Noma, trying to make the most of the last hours of light before dark. There’s enough gas in the tank to get them close to Vega, but they’ll probably have to leg the last mile or two.

It’s Alex’s turn at the wheel right now. Noma had opted not to sit in the passenger seat, but instead to curl up sleeping in the back of the truck. It doesn’t look like the most comfortable of positions, but she’d shrugged off Alex’s concern, saying: “Wings or not, I’m still not human. Don’t worry about me, Alex.”

The truck’s tires lurch across the cracked roads uneasily, and Alex finds himself muttering after a particularly uneven bump. This truck doesn’t have a spare, and if they get a flat, they’re screwed.

Alex nearly jumps when his thought process is interrupted by a _thump_ on the side of the truck. Michael opens the door, slides into the passenger seat, his wings retracted. “Alex, there’s a place half a mile ahead where we can camp out for the night. Good cover and a working water pump. There were a couple of eight-balls, but I took care of them.”

Alex nods. “Alright. Thanks.”

Michael pauses, and then something on his face seems to almost soften. “I can drive, if you need a break.”

“I’m fine,” Alex says. “It’s only for a little bit longer.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the hum of the truck’s engine and the tires jolting across the rough road. Alex glances at Michael and realizes that he’s shed his long dark coat. Another glance, and he sees the coat draped over Noma, still huddled in the back.

He thinks about the man on that rooftop in Vega who gave him a knife. He says out loud, says a question that’s been burning at the back of his throat since he recognized Michael as the hooded man:“That time when I was a kid. When you stopped those boys and taught me how to fight. Was that the first time we met? Were there times before that? Or after, before the Corps.”

“There were always times, Alex,” Michael says, quietly. He doesn’t seem unfazed by Alex bringing it up. “You had to be watched until you were ready. You are the Chosen One.”

He lets out a scoff of frustration. “I still don’t know what that _means_ , Michael. I had nearly all of the markings burned off of me by Julian, remember? Couldn’t even finish him off with that one on my arm.”

Alex thinks of the hot iron on his skin, the haze of pain, Julian murmuring to him not to die, not until he’s taken all of the markings.

Michael says, “It’s not simply about the markings.”

“It’s about me, then?” Alex says. “What am I supposed to be, Michael? A priest? A prophet? A weapon? A new god?”

He thinks about the Church of the Savior. Two clasped palms raised toward the heavens. That symbol everywhere: splayed on the flashing signs of Vega, prominently hanging from flags, Claire murmuring _in the name of the Savior_ with reverence during her services. Alex knows who he is, and he’s not _that_.

Alex pushes on, “You said you would die for me. And Noma lost her wings because of me. Don’t get hurt for _me_. It’s - it’s too much. I don’t know if I can pull off some grand resolution to everything wrong in the world. And, trust me, I know how shitty this life is, but I don’t have the ability to magically fix everything. I just want the best for my city. And for the people I care about.”

And Michael looks at him, and says, low and intense: “Then do that, Alex. Do whatever you think is best and right. Let your path take you wherever it takes you. And we’ll be there to fight for you. You are none of the things you named, Alex - not a priest, nor prophet, nor weapon, nor god. You are a healer or a destroyer, and regardless of which, I have faith.”

“Fight _with_ me, not _for_ ,” Alex says. “I’m a soldier. Same as you are. Same as Nomes.”

“Perhaps,” Michael says. His voice drops, and he turns his face away. “There was once a boy who was prophesied to be great. I didn’t raise him and I didn’t know him well.

“But I know that he was brave. And he fell, and I couldn’t catch him. I was always there in Vega when you were a boy and then a man, because I didn’t want that to happen to you. I wanted to know that I would always be able to catch you.”

Alex lets out a slow exhale, doesn’t know what to say next. He sees the shelter that Michael had described to him earlier and brings the truck to a stop. He’s about to get out, and then he feels Michael’s hand on his arm. There’s an air of uncertainty about the touch, something shaky, and Alex wants to laugh when he remembers that awkward hug he gave Michael earlier that afternoon.

He smiles, leans toward Michael so that their foreheads are nearly brushing, and says, “Thank you. You caught me.”


End file.
